


Flashwolf

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe, Crack, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Minor Malira, Shared Dreams, band au, domestic sciles, lydia is a cute bean, minor scira, not-so-minor stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: Kira accidentally electrocutes Scott and Stiles, sending them into a shared coma in which they are in a band and everyone else is surprisingly musically talented. Kira can sing, Malia and Lydia can dance, Derek is a DJ and producer, and Isaac is a British boyband breakout.“Dude, we’re living in X Factor, and Lydia’s mom is Simon Cowell.”





	Flashwolf

**Author's Note:**

> Alright this fic is mostly crack and other ridiculous stuff. Basically I was lying on the floor one day and suddenly thought 'hey what if Teen Wolf had a musical episode' and then my imagination ran and than BAM this happened. Anyway, I've been motivated by the videos of Dylan drumming and jamming with the TMR cast that have been popping up on Twitter lately. Lydia's plot point comes from Holland saying her wildest dreams are of Lydia being in a hip hop contest.
> 
> There were a lot more characters I wanted to add into this but I didn't really have the space for them and I didn't want the fic to get too long so RIP Allison, Erica and Boyd, I gotta stick to those who are still alive. Also I imagine Cora records the vocals for Derek's tracks but didn't really have the chance to fit that in.

It starts with a game of mini lacrosse.

It’s winter break in their junior year of college, and everyone is back in Beacon Hills, including Isaac, who now speaks French and studies in Montreal. Even Kira is here. She was granted leave from skinwalker training for satisfactory performance, but her mother claims it is a test to see if she can control her powers on her own.

It’s a few days after Christmas and barely a week before school starts again. They are hanging out at the field Scott and Stiles used to practice lacrosse at, a handful sitting on the mats, watching the 3-v-3 match: Scott, Liam and Hayden against Stiles, Isaac and Kira. It’s fairly even, since Hayden has never played but has her werewolf agility, and Stiles is still relatively terrible despite all the physical training for the FBI programme.

Scott gets the ball. He charges towards goal and Stiles intercepts him. That’s when Kira barrels into them with a war cry. There’s a brief flash of her fox outline and Scott feels the jolt of electricity course through his body before he blacks out.

* * *

Scott wakes up with the ceiling unusually close to his face. He rolls over to spot a railing and the top of a ladder. He’s in a bunk bed.

Someone groans below him – Scott recognises the sound as that of Stiles waking up, so he peers over the rail and sure enough, Stiles is there on the bottom bunk, blinking through heavy eyelids.

Stiles surveys the room before looking up at Scott. “Scotty, are we roommates?”

* * *

 Oddly, they _are_ roommates, and living in Los Angeles. The fridge is stocked with frozen pasta and there are photos of them all over the apartment, but oddly none featuring other members of the pack besides Liam and Mason.

Also, there’s a drum set in their living room, as well as three guitars, one connected to an amp.

Then Liam and Mason knock on the door and tell them to “hurry up and put on something cool – we’re going to be late! It’s show day!”

Scott is pulling his shirt over his head when he realises that the sounds of the traffic outside are not as loud as they should be.

“Stiles. I don’t have my wolf powers.”

* * *

 The show in question is a travelling reality series documenting the music scene in various cities, then featuring amateur musicians and bands based in said city in a live televised concert. Local acts are interspersed with guest star performances.

Apparently, they – Scott, Stiles, Liam and Mason – are a band. They auditioned and were selected to perform in the LA episode of the show, which airs this evening.

Also, Natalie Martin, creator of reality talent competitions and music mogul, produces the show.

“This is really weird,” Stiles whispers when the woman walks past them, grumbling over the phone about some college competition next door, not showing any signs of recognition.

“I don’t think anyone recognises us,” Scott says. “Except those two.” He jerks his chin towards the two younger boys who are inspecting a band set in the corner of the room.

Stiles ducks as a two stagehands hurry past with a giant box of cables between them. “Alright what’s the last thing you remember?”

Scott blinks and shakes his head. Lacrosse. Kira tackling him. Electricity. “I think the game made her lose control of her powers. She zapped us, and we’re unconscious.”

The statement sounds ridiculous to an outside ear, but Stiles just clicks his tongue as if he is entertaining the possibility.

“Okay, shared state of unconsciousness. So are we unconscious like concussed from lacrosse and electrocution? Or unconscious like the time she zapped you to fake your death?”

* * *

 “They are not dead,” Deaton declares, leaning back from inspecting Scott’s unmoving body. “In fact, all their vitals are acceptable.”

“Then why aren’t they waking up?” Kira asks, her voice wavering with concern and guilt.

Her mother, standing across Scott’s bed from the veterinarian with arms crossed, answers.

“When you shocked them with electricity, coupled with the force of you tackling them unnecessarily hard, it must have sent both of them into coma,” Noshiko states. There is a hard edge in her voice. “You know what this means, Kira. You cannot yet control it.”

Kira hangs her head like a child who has been reprimanded. Her next words are directed at everyone even though she mumbles them:

“I’m sorry." 

* * *

 About fifteen minutes since they entered the studio building, backstage activity dies down for the moment. A voice faintly drifts out of a nearby speaker and when he locates the source, notices the monochrome TV set with a live feed of the stage.

A lone figure stands in the middle of the stage, guitar hanging across her body. Scott squints at the TV set – is that…?

He has to blink a few times. Kira’s voice is marred by the quality of the speaker, but it sounds like she is belting it out on that stage. He has heard Kira singing in the shower – she is decent, but not _this_ good.

Scott is so confused that he ends up staring at the small screen even after Kira’s figure has exited the stage. He jumps when the stage door opens to his right, then freezes when Kira herself walks out. She leans her guitar against the wall before shrugging out of a thick, fur-trimmed jacket.

“It’s freezing in there.”

“Huh?” Scott shakes his head, then realises Kira was talking to him. _Oh shit, she caught you staring_ , he thinks. Then, _wait, Kira has pretty good cold tolerance and doesn’t like furry clothes_.

He doesn’t really know how to respond, so he simply smiles and jerks his head, hoping it looks like a nod. Kira nods back before leaving with her guitar.

* * *

 Stiles “inspects” the drum kit in the studio as per Liam’s request, using inverted commas because he has no idea what to expect in a drum kit. Nothing looks broken, nothing is worn out, and he’s not exactly sure what else he should look out for. So he starts looking for Liam to tell him everything is good.

He is searching for the younger boy along a wide hallway where several camera crewmen are moving their equipment around when a small body pushes past him.

“Lydia - ”

She spins around again, hair floating like a curtain. There are bags under her eyes, poorly concealed by make-up that has been applied with a lack of finesse the real Lydia would balk at.

“Wolves in California, right? We’re running behind so your stage rehearsal is rescheduled to two thirty, final dry run should start at four thirty – an announcement will be made over the PA, make up starts from six, and if you need anything else just give me ten minutes to attend to this – something, or look for Danny,” she breathes before rushing off into the crowd, clipboard, papers and a notebook clutched tightly to her chest.

Stiles doesn’t react fast enough. By the time he dashes back into the corridor, she’s gone.

* * *

Scott runs up to him, waving something in his face.

“Stiles!” he pants. “I saw Kira. Kira is here. She’s a singer, but she doesn’t know who I am. I also found this.”

Stiles looks down at what Scott has shoved under his nose. It appears to be a programme booklet for the live audience. Then his eyes drift to the image taking up the bottom right quarter of the page.

CELEBRITY PERFORMANCES BY: BRANDON LOVES ROCK, HARLOWE, AND ISAAC LAHEY.

Sure enough, in glossy print, in Isaac, wearing a blazer over a white dress shirt and a pair of shades.

Scott’s eyes flicker up. Once he is sure Stiles has noticed the picture, he flips to the centrefold.

“ _They say a wolf never survives without a pack, but British boyband breakout Isaac Lahey has had a successful solo career so far and it looks like it’s only going up_ ,” Stiles reads. “Are you kidding me? Isaac – freaking _Isaac_ – is a popstar?”

“There’s more,” Scott says, pointing to another text box. “The boyband he left was founded on some singing competition show. It was produced by Ms Martin. Everyone is somehow connected.”

“Yeah, Lydia is here too,” Stiles adds. “I think she’s like a stage manager or something. She was running around, looked totally overwhelmed.”

They stare at each other for a while, letting the information sink in. When it does, both boys sigh simultaneously.

“So we are unconscious, and currently dreaming up a world where everyone is linked to the music industry instead of being involved in the supernatural,” Stiles muses, hand coming up to rub his chin.

Scott wonders when in his life did such a ridiculous suggestion become plausible.

* * *

He has no idea what he is doing.

Scott peers down at the amp. Should he adjust the knobs? He has no idea what any of them do. He glances at Mason – the other boy twists two knobs then starts plucking the strings on his bass guitar before leaning on one foot, satisfied. Wait, how did he know that was a bass guitar?

Scott looks over his other shoulder. Stiles is gripping a drum stick in each hand, frowning at the kit as if it will help him figure out the various drums and cymbals. Finally, he sighs and takes his seat, moves his foot onto a pedal, and startles when the deep boom of the large central drum resounds through the theatre.

Their eyes meet. _We have no idea what we are doing_.

In the middle of the theatre stall, some guy stands at a soundboard, his face only half lit by the tiny lights. He leans down to speak into a mike:

“Alright, Wolves in California. Just play your set and we’ll make all the last adjustments to the lighting. You guys ready?”

“Hell yeah!” Liam cheers from behind his keyboard.

The spotlight is turned on and they play.

* * *

“You can sing.”

“And you play the drums.”

“You play the guitar and sing, Scott. Pretty darn well, I must say. We’re the least musically inclined people you could get. We failed music elective from fifth to seventh grade. What the hell did we just do? How did we even know what to play? Where the hell did you magically learn all that lyrics from?”

“I – I don’t know. It just kind of happened. It’s like we’re in a musical.”

“Dude, we’re living in X Factor, and Lydia’s mom is Simon Cowell.”

* * *

The backstage is crammed again. Some people are moving the props, sets and cameras into the correct position, some are yelling for each other, others are shouting about logistics. Everyone is jostling with everyone to get to his or her various positions.

Performers are being shuttled to and from a giant dressing room for make-up and other stuff. Stiles heard someone mention spray tanning, and Scott was wrestled into having his hair sprayed. If there’s one good thing about not having his wolf powers here, it’s that he can’t smell all the products in the room.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. His fingers come away sticky with gel (thank you, overzealous make-up team) and he rubs them off on his pants. _Should have kept the buzzcut_.

“Has anyone seen Lydia?” someone calls out, and someone shouts in reply. To Stiles, at least, the response is unintelligible, but these people are apparently adept in understanding shouting language.

“No?” yells the voice. Then, under his breath, “damn why does she always go missing at random times?”

Stiles twists his head in search of the source, to no avail.

“Thirty minutes to show!” booms a different voice, and Stiles recalls why he is drifting in a tide of frantic crew members instead of waiting in the dressing room as performers were instructed to do: he needs to use the washroom.

(They served really good punch for dinner, okay?)

He wanders aimlessly through the corridors, occasionally asking passing personnel for directions to the washroom. All of them push past him in their haste, deaf to his plea.

Finally, on his eighth attempt, a nice young lad and his companion point him towards the gents. Stiles stares at their backs as they walk off. They are wearing matching jackets with a varsity-style symbol on the back.

When he reaches the washroom, he checks the signage. _Mourril Hall_. The live show is being taped in _Laurel Production Building_. He must have wandered onto the next set.

He is making his way back to the TV studio after relieving himself when he decides to sneak into the theatre space. According to the electronic clock on the wall, the show doesn’t start for another twenty minutes and the band isn’t the first act anyway.

What he finds is a large multi-purpose hall packed with people around his age. Each group is decked out in matching outfits.

Spotlights shine onto a raised platform in the middle of the hall, where a group of twenty-something girls are performing. Some groovy hip hop track pumps through large speakers at each corner of the hall.

He notices Malia first. Her hair is cut short like senior year in high school, even though she grew it long again in college. She performs a few impressive kicks and slides around, making faces as she lip syncs to the song she is dancing too. Then she drops into a split to reveal the shorter girl behind her.

Lydia leaps over Malia, grinning as she moves into the frontline of the formation. The troupe’s varsity jacket is a little large on her, but doesn’t stop her from drawing circles with her arms as she stomps around to the beat. It fans out as she does a turn, and Stiles is close enough to the stage to see the sleeves shift up and down her forearms as the she performs a series of punching actions.

Why exactly is this his dream? He knows that in reality Lydia had ballet lessons up till high school, but he never thought about her dancing in this style. Malia never showed any interest in dance.

Stiles snaps out of his thoughts. The performance has ended and the group is taking their bows. Lydia is smiling happily. Then her eyes meet his, and her expressions changes to that of a deer caught in headlights.

* * *

Lydia hugs her bag with one arm. Her free hand is closed around his wrist, dragging him back towards the production building. In real life, there are three reasons why Lydia would pull Stiles along like that: one, some supernatural danger is chasing them; two, they are urgently looking for clues; three, they are finding somewhere to make out. However, this isn’t the real world, and Lydia Martin is dragging his ass back to the correct building because that’s where he is supposed to be.

“You’re not supposed to be in the other buildings,” she admonishes as she brisk-walks.

“Neither are you.”

She sighs when she halts, releasing his wrist.

“Please don’t tell my mom.”

“That you’re sneaking out of the studio and abandoning your stage manager duties?” Stiles asks. She is holding down one of the biggest roles, people are bound to notice when she is missing.

“ _Second_ stage manager,” she corrects, cocking her head as she does so. “ _And_ my mother’s personal assistant.”

She fixes him with pleading eyes. “So you can’t tell her about the dancing.”

“Because it clashes with the show?”

“Because it’s not relevant to music business.”

Ah, the age-old parent-child career conflict. Maybe Scott had a point about being in a musical.

Lydia is now rambling about having everything chosen for her, having to be in the business and arts management programme, entrepreneurship club, working for her mother, no time for frivolities, admiring dancers from afar until her roommate (Malia) persuaded her to join the school dance troupe behind her mother’s back.

“…will have to tell her eventually, but not yet, okay? So please _please_ don’t tell her anything,” she begs.

Stiles shrugs. “Well okay. I mean, it’s not like I know your mom personally.”

“But you will soon,” Lydia says quietly, as if she is divulging information she’s not supposed to reveal. “Congratulations, Natalie Martin wants to offer Wolves in California a contract.”

* * *

Isaac can sing.

His acts succeeded the band’s set, so they were waiting in the wings with him. Scott tried to make small talk, but was ignored.

Anyway, Isaac can sing, and his songs are rather catchy. Mason later says it is too mainstream pop, but “what do you expect from a teen girl heartthrob?”

“Are you saying we can’t get girls with our style?” Liam challenges.

“That depends,” a voice cuts in. Four heads turn to see the heartthrob himself leaned against the wall about ten feet away.

He’s dressed more casually than in the programme photo – T-shirt and leather jacket instead of the formal wear. He removes his shades so they can see his eyes scanning their faces one by one.

Isaac’s gaze lands on Liam. “Raglan hoodie. Very high school. If that’s what you’re going for.”

Scott grabs Liam’s arm to calm him down. Liam may not be a werewolf in this world but it doesn’t stop him from growling at Isaac.

“Angry puppy needs a leash. How adorable,” Isaac remarks in his strong accent.

“You may have the whole One Direction thing going on, but I’m pretty sure he can take you,” Stiles hits back.

Isaac frowns as he tilts his head. “What’s One Direction?”

* * *

The second time Scott sees Kira, she has ditched the fur-trimmed coat for a camouflage-print blazer that she is wearing over a fitting white top, paired with a calf-length pleated black skirt and black heeled sandals.

Scott wonders why he’s dreaming of a Kira with a different sense of style. Could skinwalker training have changed her views on fashion? He tries to recall Kira’s outfits over the holidays but nothing comes to mind.

“Hello again.”

While he was thinking, Kira has moved from the end of the hallway to right in front of him.

“Uh, hi,” Scott stutters. Then he remembers that this Kira doesn’t know who he is.

Liam beats him to the introductions. “Wolves in Cali. Scott, Mason, Stiles, and me, Liam.”

“Kira Yukimura.”

This Kira smiles warmly and not shyly like the Kira he knows. She introduces herself with confidence instead of avoiding attention.

“All here, perfect.”

Natalie Martin’s voice disrupts the icebreaker. She nods at the group before unlocking the door to the office Scott had been told to report to. “In here please.”

Lydia scurries into the room just as her mother closes the door. She is holding two large envelopes in one hand, and uses the other to push back wisps of her hair that has fallen in front of her eyes. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, as if she had a workout. Her blouse and cardigan are slightly crumpled. Everybody here is so…different.

Stood behind her mother, Lydia furrows her brows and does a little shake of her head. When Scott follows her line of sight, he finds Stiles raising his eyebrows in question. Kira, Liam and Mason are standing at the front of the group, and Natalie is cleaning her glasses, so no one else notices the exchange.

At last, the older woman takes the envelopes from Lydia, handing one to Kira and one to the boys.

“Thank you all of you for performing in tonight’s show,” Natalie begins. “The ratings are extremely promising, and I hope you enjoyed the opportunity.”

“With that done, I think everyone here has potential to survive in the music industry. So, I would like to give you a new opportunity: to sign on with one of the labels under Martin Music Group.”

* * *

The discussion felt like hours, but it is only approaching half past ten when the boys and Kira leave Natalie’s office. The band has landed themselves an album deal and Kira has agreed to an EP while also collaborating with other artists signed under Natalie, including – get this – DJ and electronic dance producer Derek Hale.

“What? How can you not know Derek Hale? His tracks are _epic_ ,” Mason exclaims when Kira asks who Derek is.

“Maybe I’ve heard some of them?”

“You know what? The night is still young, and I know the club where Derek got discovered. He mixes on the last Tuesday of each month, which coincidentally, is today. Come on, pre-drinks on me.”

* * *

It only takes Kira two shots to declare the music “ _freaking lit_ ” and head onto the dance floor.

“Look it’s Derek, in a room full of people releasing tons of hormones into the air. He must be screaming inside,” Stiles jokes. Across the room, Derek stands behind a long DJ controller, headphones on, turning knobs that control the music.

Scott briefly considers approaching Derek before he spies the stocky bouncer next to the controller. Scott knows without his wolf powers, he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Oh my god, he’s actually dancing,” Stiles remarks when Derek starts bobbing his head to the strong bass he just added.

The bartender refills their shot glasses. Scott and Stiles wordlessly clink their glasses before downing the new shots with synchronised movement.

“I think I wanna dance with Kira,” Scott announces.

“Yeah, I think someone beat you to that,” is Stiles’ reply. He points Scott towards the center of the dance floor where Kira is grinding up against Malia.

* * *

“Scott, there’s a kid passed out on our couch.”

 

“Scott, there’s another one sleeping in our kitchen!”

 

“Hey, I keep saying ‘our’. It makes us sound like a married couple.”

“Why would we dream about being married to each other?”

“You break my heart, Scotty. Just so you know, I would totally marry you if we didn’t have love lives.”

“…”

“I’m serious, do you know all the legal and tax benefits we would get?”

* * *

They have to meet Natalie again to discuss marketing plans.

Liam and Mason’s headaches subside by eleven, so they quickly make their way to the production building in hopes that they can wrap up the meeting before lunchtime.

Natalie isn’t in her office when they arrive, but the wait is short. An elevator soon reaches the designated floor, and its doors open to reveal a shouting match between mother and daughter.

Lydia is dressed in tights, sneakers and a zipped-up tracksuit, contrasting her mother’s blouse and pencil skirt. Her hair is twisted into a messy bun. She is clutching the straps of her backpack in one hand and the lanyard attached to her various staff passes in the other.

“ _This_ is why you didn’t graduate early when you had the chance? _This_ is why you turned down a full-time role in the company? To do this?” Natalie shrieked.

“I enjoy ‘ _this_ ’ mom!” Lydia retorts. “Much more than any job I’ve ever done for you.”

She gesticulates wildly as she yells, causing the lanyard to swing. Natalie grabs hold of the passes and snatches the lanyard from her daughter’s grasp.

“You’ve been abusing your position and neglecting your duties. On show day, Lydia? Unbelievable,” the woman berates. “Until you get your priorities straight, you will not be leaving the office wing without my approval.”

“But – ”

“No buts, Lydia!” Natalie yells, and Lydia cowers. “You have a job and your partner should be adequately-trained to perform solo. She won’t miss you. Now get dressed. You’re hardly presentable and our clients are already here.”

With that, Natalie pockets the lanyard and storms into her office, gesturing for the boys to follow her. Scott pauses in the doorway to look back. Stiles stays rooted where he is.

“Lydia – ”

“Just go,” she sniffs.

“Are you – ”

“Stiles!” Natalie Martin’s voice is sharp and final.

Reluctantly, he moves his feet towards the office. Lydia turns down a corridor, and before she disappears from sight, Stiles thinks he sees her wiping away tears.

* * *

“So, we will start recording the demo for ‘Raise My Pulse’ and another song. And pick a third song to have a music video – preferably one you didn’t perform. There will be a team directing the video, but you may propose ideas if you come up with any. If there are no questions, then we are done for today, and someone on the recording team will contact you soon.”

They leave the office in a chorus of ‘alright’s and ‘thank you’s before pushing each other through the narrow doorway.

They return to Scott and Stiles’ apartment for lunch. Scott reheats some pasta that was in the fridge while the rest take their seats around the dining table. Stiles produces a green notebook and starts flipping through it.

“Uh, why do you have Natalie Martin’s phonebook?”

“No reason…aha! Employee Contact List.”

Everyone watches as Stiles dials a number into his phone and presses ‘Call’. He raises the phone to his ear but Liam catches his arm and insists he “put in on speaker”.

The dial tone rings four times, then –

“Hello?”

“Hi Lydia? This is Stiles. You know, from Wolves in California.”

“How did you get my number?”

“I might or might not have borrowed some stuff from your mom, including your lanyard carrying, let’s see…”

Scott shoots Stiles a look as the latter pulls Lydia’s passes out of his pocket.

“Martin Music Group employee card, Laurel Studios backstage pass, Laurel Building security card, and this tag here that says ‘Pacific West Collegiate Street Dance Championships: Participant’ – grants entry to all Mourril Hall entrances.”

There’s a pause, then Lydia’s voice asks, “What do you want?”

“Jamming session with the band. Lunch is provided. I’ll text you the address,” Stiles answers, inciting a couple of ‘wait, what’s from the other guys.

Lydia must have heard them, because she checks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, ignore the guys. And bring your dance partner.” 

* * *

Malia shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth while keeping her eyes on the boys.

“You want us to be in a music video?”

“ _Potential_ music video,” Stiles reminds her.

“That my mom will see,” Lydia notes.

Scott doesn’t need his wolf hearing to hear the worry in her voice. He places a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s just an idea – ”

“A brilliant idea,” Stiles interjects.

“ – that we could propose to the video team,” Scott tells her. “It’s not a necessity and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“But we do need a routine for tonight,” Malia mumbles through a mouthful of pasta. “And it’ll be cool to practice with live music.”

Liam plays a bright riff on his keyboard for effect.

Lydia sighs, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips.

“Okay.”

* * *

The raised platform has been shifted to the side of the hall instead of being in the middle. Dancers are spread out in front of it, either warming-up or chatting with their schoolmates.

Scott and Stiles stand further away, amongst friends, coaches and some parents who have all come to support the competitors. Scott breaks away from observing the dancers stretching to look at Stiles.

“How do you feel about Lydia?”

“What?”

“You know…do you like, _like_ her?”

Stiles eyebrows furrow and his jaw hangs open when he gives Scott an incredulous expression.

“Scott that is the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me. And you’ve asked me a lot of dumb questions.”

“I mean, Lydia…” Scott trails off, waving his arms as he searches for the right words. “She’s not the Lydia we know.”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, but she’s still _Lydia_ ,” he states simply. “No matter what alternate reality I’m in.”

* * *

It’s approaching 36 hours since their bodies were carried back to the McCall house and not a second has gone by when some member of the pack wasn’t in Scott’s old bedroom, waiting to see if Scott and Stiles would wake up. If they weren’t right at Scott’s bedside, they were camping downstairs in the living room.

Lydia has only left the room to use the bathroom. Melissa and Chris bring her food now and then, the former spending all her time off work in the room as well.

Scott’s desk chair is getting uncomfortable, so she lowers herself to the floor, leans against the side of Scott’s old bed, and takes Stiles’ hand where it’s hanging off the edge.

They are not dying, if her lack of feeling is anything to go by – and it is – but it’s still discomforting to see them lying there unmoving.

Eventually, Lydia nods off.

* * *

The trio on stage take their bow. Scott is clapping politely when someone taps him on the shoulder. Craning his neck, Scott finds Kira behind him.

“Hey!” she greets. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, a little stunned to find her here of all places. He turns his body to face her, and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Friend of yours competing?”

Kira grins deviously. “Someone I met last night invited me. Actually, I see them right now.”

She squeezes between Scott and Stiles then makes a beeline for a Malia waiting at the edge of the hall.

Lydia comes up to them as Kira walks away, frowning as the other girl passes her. She looks back to Scott and Stiles with a frown before continuing her path towards them.

“What’s going on?” she questions.

“Yeah I know, they got it on at a club last night,” Stiles answers.

“They – what?” Lydia looks even more confused. Then she shakes her head. “No, that’s not – what’s happening? Why are we here? Why am I dressed like this? Why is everybody acting strange? Guys, _it’s me_.”

“Lydia?” they say at the same time.

“Oh my god, Lydia.” Stiles exhales. He fumbles before pulling her into a hug.

“How are you here?” he asks when they pull apart.

Lydia looks up at him. “I don’t know, I was falling asleep at your bed – well, Scott’s bed, but you’re sharing – and then suddenly I’m here, and Malia’s talking about a music video. Stiles, Scott, you guys are in a coma. You need to wake up.”

“Oh, right, we kind of figured that out,” Stiles informs her. “We think this is some shared state of unconscious.”

“And didn’t think about doing anything about it?”

Scott and Stiles share a look.

“Things here are…really weird,” Scott tries to explain. “We still haven’t really figured everything out – ”

They are interrupted by Malia calling Lydia’s name.

“Come on, we have to stand by!” she yells over the applause as a new set of dancers take the stage.

Lydia turns back to the boys with a quizzical expression on her face.

“Short version, you’re in a hip hop competition and you need to get up there and dance,” Stiles tells her.

“What? Ignoring how off the rails all of _this_ is, I’ve never done hip hop! I only used to learn – ”

“Ballet, I know, but it will come to you,” Stiles says, pushing her in Malia’s direction. “I know it sounds crazy, but just go with it.”

Scott nods to assure her. “Trust us, it’ll just happen.”

* * *

“I still have no idea what just happened,” Lydia muttered.

“I know, right? It’s so surreal! But it felt great! Whoo!” Malia yells, skipping ahead of the group.

“How the holy hell did I dance like that?”

“You should here Scott sing,” Stiles says, bumping his friend’s shoulder.

Scott rolls his eyes and pushes Stiles back. They start shoving and wrestling each other playfully, laughing when they cause the other to stumble. They don’t realise the truck driving out a side exit until they are caught in its headlights.

The last thing Scott hears before the truck hits him is Lydia’s scream.

* * *

The world is yellow and fuzzy as he blinks away his sleep. Scott groans and pushes himself up, shapes and colours slowly gaining more clarity.

“They’re awake!” he hears someone say. Then there’s a sound of footsteps hurrying up the steps.

Something next to him grunts, and Scott turns to find Stiles leaning on his elbows, squinting back at him.

“I didn’t sleep with you did I?”

Lydia is at Stiles’ side in an instant. She has one hand holding his, the other moving behind his back to help him sit up.

“Of course not,” she mutters.

Scott then realises he is in his old bed, Stiles reclined next to him.

Chris enters the room first, followed by Kira, who is blurting out a string of ‘sorry’s, the rest of the pack closely behind.

Someone asks if they are feeling okay.

“I think so,” Scott answers. He carefully adjusts himself so he is sitting at the edge of his old bed.

Kira crouches in front of him. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I tackled you pretty hard. And gave you an electric shock. You have been in coma for nearly two days. The normal kind, though. Deaton said I didn’t kill you.”

Scott reaches out to take both her hands in his.

“I’m fine. Just had a really weird dream.”

“Isaac was there,” Stiles grumbles. “Why would I dream about _Isaac?_ ”

“I’m honoured,” the wolf deadpans.

Chris steps forward and informs Scott and Stiles that his mother is on the way back from her shift, and Deaton will be coming over to make sure they are really fine.

Scott lifts his head to survey the room, finally settling his gaze on Lydia.

“It was your scream,” he realises. “You woke us up.”

Lydia folds her lips. “But I don’t understand – how did I get into your dream? And why did I keep my powers when you didn’t have yours?”

The others look confused, but Scott barely registers their questioning looks. There will be time for storytelling later.

He glances down the Lydia and Stiles’ interlaced fingers and tells her the obvious.

“Because you’re connected. I think you could see what we were dreaming because Stiles was dreaming it. But you weren’t actually _in_ the dream yourself, just using your powers to see it. That’s why your they still worked.”

“Seeing as I was about to be run over by a freaking truck, I guess you saved my life again,” Stiles mumbles as he pulls Lydia onto his lap and nuzzles her cheek.

“If Lydia screamed for you in the dream, doesn’t that mean you actually died?”

Stiles calmly flips Isaac off.

* * *

Noshiko insists Kira return to training almost immediately, but the rest of them have a few more days together.

Someone decides that due to recent events, a karaoke session is in order. It is disastrous. Lydia is the only one who can decently hold a tune, and even then her vocal range is limited. Her voice cracks when she tries to hit the high notes and goes flat if the key is too low. It’s a lot better than Isaac, though, who discovers that he is tone deaf.

Hayden admits she used to play the violin, but they otherwise establish that no one has any secret musical talents and head to the arcade to hog the Just Dance machine.

Malia defeats all of them, breaks the record, and then confesses that she joined her school’s dance crew.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed or at least had some cheap entertainment in the form of this.
> 
> I am stlnskissmartin on twitter and raspberrylimonade on tumblr :)


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